


A Perfect Kill

by phantisma



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Forced Prostitution, M/M, Parent/Child Incest
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-04-18
Updated: 2013-04-18
Packaged: 2017-12-08 19:36:34
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death, Rape/Non-Con, Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,370
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/765215
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/phantisma/pseuds/phantisma
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>John Winchester is a sick twist who pimps out his oldest son.  Dean Winchester is the reluctant whore, obedient, letting his father sell his body to spare his younger brother the same fate.  Sam Winchester...well, he might just be the most fucked up of the three of them.</p>
            </blockquote>





	A Perfect Kill

The blood on his hands was warm, familiar…the sticky heat coated his fingers, slid down his arm, cooling as the night breeze chills the air. He stood, putting the bloody blade back in its sheath at his waist, brushing at the hair on his forehead, knowing that it bloodies his face.

The sky was rumbling and the first drops of rain were chill on his skin as he left the trash strewn alley where earlier in the evening the thing he’d killed had mauled his brother. He paused to break the lock on a gas station bathroom and stepped in under the flickering light, grinning at the way it made him look far older than his sixteen years, far more dangerous than most who met him would believe.

He washed the evidence from his hands and face, used paper towels to clean up after himself, making sure he left nothing of himself behind before he let himself out of the bathroom and made his way through the rain back to the run down motel.

His father looked up bleary eyed as Sam let himself in. “Where the fuck were you?”

Sam pulled the bottle of pills from the pocket of the jacket. “Got something for the pain.”

His father didn’t ask how or where Sam got the pills, and Sam didn’t offer, just crossed to where Dean lay staring at the crappy picture on the black and white television, his eyes half closed, his arm holding the bruised ribs from his earlier encounter.

Sam opened the bottle and pulled out a pill, thrusting it at his brother. “They’re the strong ones that you like.”

Dean’s eyes flicked up to his, and his hand slowly followed, taking the pill. He grimaced as he shifted on the bed to reach the bottle of water beside him on the nightstand.

“I’m going to shower.” Sam said, slipping into the bathroom and starting to pull his clothes off. He set the sheathed knife on the counter by the sink and dropped everything else on the floor before stepping in under the tepid stream of water.

Sam turned his face into the water, imagining for a moment it was something more, something that would stain him for all the world to see, to know…but they would never know, could never know.  
Because he was Sam Winchester, and he had a job to do…a job the waking world would never understand.

 

 

Breakfast was cold poptarts and a can of soda tossed at them as they got in the car. Dean didn’t say anything, just climbed into the back seat beside Sam as their father started the engine. Sam grinned at him, happy to be leaving another crappy motel in another crappy town.

By dinner they were already in the next crappy town, in a slightly less crappy motel.

“Get dressed.” John said to Dean as they finished eating their drive through dinner. “Your brother and I are going out. You keep your ass inside.”

“Just like always.” Sam muttered, though he was pretty sure they both knew how well he’d obey that order. Dean was the obedient one. Sam just cleaned up the messes his obedience made.

Dean disappeared behind the bathroom door and when he came out his baggy jeans had been replaced with a pair of skin tight ones, the knees of which had worn almost to the point of tearing, and the hoodie was gone, replaced with a black wifebeater that Sam knew would be torn by the time they came back.

He watched them leave, waited a heartbeat before checking the blade on his belt, still sticky with the blood of his last kill and opened the door to the room. As he suspected, his father wasn’t going far, just across the parking lot to the seedy bar that was likely filled with rednecks.

Sam found a place to wait, knowing that his father would put Dean to work as quickly as he could. He leaned against the wall of the convenient store, in the shadows where no one would see him, his eye on the dark alley just off the back of the bar.

It wasn’t long before he heard the low laughter, and Dean leading a long legged guy out to that stretch of darkness, letting himself be pulled back, shoved to his knees. From where he was watching, Sam couldn’t hear the sounds, could barely make out the movement, but he knew all too well what his brother was doing there, in the dirt and squalor, on his knees for some stranger. He knew John was waiting just inside whatever door Dean fell out of with the man, counting the money, drinking beer, his eyes already sweeping the room for another trick.

If he was lucky, the joint was big enough to get three, but Sam doubted it. They were too far off the interstate and too deep into the heartland for there to be that many closeted perverts. They were due to hit a bigger city, a place where they would find some shit hole apartment and his father would find a corner to set Dean up on while he looked for bigger plays.

Truth was, John Winchester hadn’t set up one of his $100 buy-in fuck fests in a while. Sam suspected that was what would happen as soon as they hit some place with more than a thousand people in it.

Dean was done, already headed back inside. Sam pulled out a cigarette and lit it. To be fair, it wasn’t the whoring that bothered Sam. It was the other stuff. His father rented Dean out like a motel room to anyone with the cash, he just made them pay more if they wanted the kinky shit. Which meant Dean coming home with bruises and bloody welts, with cracked ribs and broken bones. John only ever stepped in when he was afraid they might hurt Dean enough that he couldn’t be whored out the next day.

That was why Sam watched. Why he waited in the shadows. Why his knife was always sharp.

He finished the cigarette and crushed it on the pavement under him. He could still remember that first time like it had been just the day before. He hadn’t fully understood what Dean and his father did when they left him alone at night and he’d followed them, using the shadows to hide in. He’d watched Dean go down on his knees a couple of times…watched one of the men negotiate with his father for something more.

Dean’s face as the man fucked him was blank, staring into the pavement. He didn’t even cry out with the first punch. When John finally pulled the bastard off, Dean had been bleeding from the nose and mouth and his hand was broken.

That had been his first. He was thirteen, watching the man leaving the bar, laughing about the whore he’d beaten bloody. Sam had waited as his friends left. Watched the man call his wife, tell her he was running late. The blood was sticky and thick on his hands, the body already starting to cool by the time his rage had subsided. He left what remained in a pile of trash behind the bar.

It would not be his last.

He heard a voice saying something about a car, and Dean appeared, his eyes skipping over the cars, finding Sam and looking away. Sam moved with them, down a few rows to a late model Chevy parked near the fence. He kept to the shadows, watching for their father. Dean peeled his jeans down and bent over the trunk of the car, his face turned toward Sam.

Sam held his breath as he watched the man guide himself to Dean’s hole, pushing in. Dean grunted, licked his lips, his eyes locked on Sam’s. The car rocked in time with the man’s rutting and when he pulled out to dump his load on the ground under him, Dean’s eyes closed.

The man slapped Dean’s bare ass in thanks and tucked himself in. Dean was a little slower pulling his jeans up and when he had zipped he spoke over his shoulder. “Dad’s hustling pool. Best get back to the room. You don’t want a beating.”

If John was hustling, he’d given up on getting any more from Dean for the night. He didn’t say anything, just waited until Dean was gone inside the bar before he headed back to the room. He let himself in and crossed to the bed he would share with Dean, after his brother had poured their father into bed and showered off the smell of the men he’d let fuck him.

Sam pulled his journal out of his duffle, opening it to the random page in the middle that was marked with thirteen lines in neat sets of three, but for the last one. Three of the triads were circled, two of them underlined. He pulled the pen out of the back and made a fourteenth mark, strong, controlled, evenly spaced after the last single mark.

It had been exactly seven days since he’d made the last mark. If the johns behaved for another six nights, Sam might get another perfect triad, another circle. He put the journal back in the bag and stood up to unbuckle his belt and slide his jeans off. He eased the knife out of its sheath, smiling at the sheen of blood still clinging to the blade.

His father would beat him senseless if he saw that Sam had let the blood dry, and he knew there was a chance that he left one victim’s DNA on the next…but the blade was sharp, and as soon as he had a third, he’d clean it, the same way he did every time.

Each triad represented a pattern, he killed each of them the same…but they had never been in the same state, let alone the same city, so no one had ever connected them. The first was the closest he ever came. He’d been young, the rage and the pleasure was powerful, driving him from that first act of passion to each of the next kills.

Sam slipped the knife back into its sheath and put it in his bag, zipping it closed and shoving it into the corner between the bed and the wall before sliding into bed. He let one hand slide down to his cock, hard at the memory of watching Dean, at the thought of the way the bastard last night went down, at the sight of his blood on Sam’s blade. But his hand wasn’t what he wanted.

It was a little more than an hour before the door opened and Dean came in, heading straight for the bathroom to shower.

John dropped his jeans and jacket and groaned as he slid into the other bed. Sam could smell the booze. But that meant his father would sleep. Dean emerged from the bathroom, turning off lights as he came and sliding into bed with Sam.

Sam rolled over, spooning up against him, his cock still hard and pressing against Dean’s ass.

“Sam.” Dean whispered. “Dad.”

Sam nuzzled his neck. “Just be quiet. He won’t know.”

Dean didn’t argue as Sam maneuvered his boxers enough that his cock could find its way to Dean’s ass. He worked himself in, Dean adjusting his position to make it easier. Sam took his time, his eyes flitting to their father’s head on the other bed, listening for sounds that he was awake. His strokes were long and slow and Dean’s hand slipped back over his hip, cupping to Sam’s ass to pull him in closer.

Sam bit down on his lip as he came, slipping his softening cock out of his brother and rolling onto his back. Dean got out of bed and went back into the bathroom. Sam heard the toilet flush, then Dean was back, sliding in under the blankets, curling up to Sam’s side. “You shouldn’t provoke him.” Dean whispered in his ear.

“He doesn’t scare me.” Sam whispered back, turning so that Dean was spooned up behind him and drawing one of Dean’s hands down over his stomach.

“He’ll beat you.” Dean said, kissing Sam’s neck. “Or worse.”

Sam knew his brother was right. His father still outweighed him, still made him feel small when he was angry. Sam might be the killer in the family, but John Winchester was a scary man. It was the reason Dean obeyed him. It was the reason Sam didn’t.

Sam closed his eyes. “Go to sleep, Dean. Tomorrow he’ll take us to the next useless town.”

 

 

Dean was gone when Sam woke, probably off to fetch the old man his coffee. Sam stretched and slid out of bed, gasping when hands grabbed him and shoved him into the wall.

“Did you think I couldn’t hear you?” his father asked, his hand on Sam’s throat.

Sam grabbed at his hand, but John shoved it away and punched him in the stomach. “You’re a filthy fucking pig, fucking your brother like you think I wouldn’t know.”

Sam tried to push him off, but his balance was all wrong and his feet couldn’t get any traction. John knew what he was doing. He landed another blow to Sam’s stomach, then punched him hard across the face, making the room spin. John threw him at the bed then, following close and pinning Sam’s face against the mattress. “Maybe it’s time I teach you a lesson.”

His hands yanked Sam’s underwear down and his feet kicked Sam’s legs apart. Sam struggled to push up, but his father’s hand was on the back of his neck, holding him down. The door opened and Dean’s eyes went wide. “Dad. Stop.”

“Stay out of it.” John growled, his cock already pressing against Sam’s ass.

“Fuck.” Sam bucked, but John responded by punching him in the side. “Get off.”

Dean put the coffee cups down and came toward them, only to have John back hand him and send him backwards onto the other bed.

“I said stay out of it. It’s high time your brother got used to it. Got folk lined up in Dallas that want a go at him.”

“Like hell.” Sam said, bucking up again. He was a lot of things, but he wasn’t a whore.

His father’s hand slapped down against his hip and he kicked Sam’s leg out from under him, pressing down at the same time. It wasn’t the first time his father had fucked him, but it had been a long time. Sam looked at Dean, sprawled back on the bed beside them, but Dean looked away. Sam couldn’t expect anything from him, not when this had been Dean’s place for the last five years, maybe more.

At least his father was already worked up. Had probably sat fisting himself waiting for Sam to wake up. That meant it would be over fast. John grunted and thrust, his fingers leaving bruises on Sam’s neck. He shifted his grip to Sam’s hips as he came, burying himself in deep and coming hard…but he wasn’t done.

“Dean, give me his belt.”

“What?” Dean moved, but was slow, trying to figure out why Sam was going to get the belt after…but he put the belt in their father’s hands.

He wasted little time, one hand on Sam’s back to keep him in place while the other brought the belt down. Sam hissed and squirmed, but knew better than to really fight back. Five blows landed before John stopped. He leaned in close, his voice dark and dangerous. “You want to fuck my whore, you pay me for him, same as anyone. You try that again, I’ll take the price out of you.” He stood back, crossing to the table and taking his cup of coffee. “Get your ass dressed. Dean, load us up. I want us on the road in a fifteen minutes.”

The room was quiet once he left. Dean went through the motions of getting their stuff together, but Sam could feel his eyes as he pushed himself up off the bed and pulled his boxers up.

“You okay?” Dean asked softly when Sam emerged from the quick clean up job he did in the bathroom.

“I’m fine.” Sam responded, pulling on his jeans and looking for his shoes.

“He promised me…” Dean looked away when Sam looked up. “He said you’d never…”

Sam shook his head. He knew all about the deal his brother had made with the old man, the reason he was so fucking obedient. It had been the same night that Sam first stuck his knife in a fucking trick that had sent Dean to the hospital.

Their father had joked about Dean needing to get on his feet fast, because they needed the money and Sam’s ass was too scrawny to sell. Dean got very serious and told his father that he would never let Sam become what John had made him into. He’d promised to behave, to do whatever John wanted him to, if he promised that Sam would never be forced to sell himself the way Dean did.

Sam had been in the bathroom, washing the blood out of his clothes. They didn’t know he’d heard.

“I know.” Sam said. “But when has a promise ever meant anything to him?” Sam shook his head and picked up his duffle bag. “You ready, I don’t really want to piss him off more than he is.”

“I’ll fix this Sam.” Dean said fiercely as they pulled the door shut and crossed to the car. “I promise.”

“I’m a big boy, Dean. I can fix it for myself.” Sam said, his eyes flashing at their father.

His ass hurt as he sat, but Sam kept his head up, not giving his father the satisfaction. It would be a long ride, and a cold night in bed alone.

 

 

 

Dallas was five nights away, five nights of Dean in his father’s bed. Five mornings of John fucking Sam into the mattress or the wall, or over the trunk of the Impala and then beating him, either with the belt or his fists. By the time they got to Dallas, Sam was bruised and barely sitting upright in an effort to keep the weight off his ass.

They pulled up outside an obviously abandoned warehouse and John got out of the car, nodding to himself. “Oh, yeah. This will work.” He led the way inside, past a couple of offices and into a cavernous space. “We can get twenty guys in here with room to spare.”

Dean hung back at that point, arms crossed over his stomach. Of all the sick things John Winchester made Dean do, Sam knew this was one of the worst.

John ignored them for the next hour, dragging furniture out of the offices, setting up a sort of circle in the center of the space with various surface Dean could be bent over and shoved up against. “I’ll get the lights set up later. Let’s go grab dinner.”

He was happy. Sam followed him and Dean to the car, watching his father slip an arm around Dean, smiling at him. He was talking about setting his son up to be gang banged, and he was happy about it.

At that exact moment, Sam was more disgusted with his father than he was afraid.

Which wasn’t to say his father had never disgusted him before. There had just always been more fear of what he might do and that had kept Sam from even thinking the thought stirring in the darker recesses of his brain. He followed his father into the diner, ordered a burger, not really paying attention to either Dean or John. His thoughts were on his knife, on how the next night was the perfect night, on getting them out from under the bruising hand of John Winchester once and for all.

“Dad, you promised.” Dean said, making Sam look up from his half eaten burger. “I told you I’d do as many as you want, just leave Sam out.”

“Too late. First guy will be waiting for us. It’s time. You were younger.”

“I was different.” Dean protested, looking at Sam now. Sam met his eyes, nodded his head lightly.

“I am not going to argue about this, Dean. Sam’s doing it and that’s final. If you know what’s good for you, you’ll shut your fucking mouth and eat your fucking dinner.”

Dean’s foot found his under the table, rubbing against him. Sam shook his head. “I’ll be fine.”

“See. That settles it.” John finished mopping up the gravy from his pot roast with his roll and shoved it in his mouth. His eyes raked over Sam, squinting as if expecting more of a fight, or at least a smart mouth.

Ten minutes later they were pulling into a hotel parking lot. John sent Dean in to the office to get them a room and once he was out of the car, he turned to look at Sam. “I expect you to go in, do what he wants you to, and come out when he’s done, without saying anything more than ‘yes, Sir’, you get me?”

Cold rage sat hard in his stomach as Sam lifted his eyes to meet his father’s. “Yes, sir.” Sam didn’t look away, not until Dean was getting back into the car and pointing to room number 9. It didn’t take long for John to shove Dean into the room with their bags, and grab Sam by the back of the neck, marching him down toward room number 16. John knocked on the door.

The man who opened it was in his late forties, early fifties, his dark hair shot with gray at the temples, his heavy frame sagging from his shoulders. He nodded at them, his eyes raking over Sam. He held up a wad of bills in his hand. “I get an hour.”

“Hope you don’t mind he’s a bit banged up.” John said as he took the bills and shoved Sam at the man. “He’s had a bad week.”

“As long as his ass works, I don’t care.” The man’s hand closed around Sam’s wrist and he pulled him into the room. Sam watched the door close and turned to look at the man again. He was familiar, probably one of the semi regulars they kept coming back to. Only way his father would trust the man behind closed doors.

“Been waiting a long time for this, Sammy.”

“Oh, yeah. Me too.” Sam said, moving toward the bed. “Just what every boy dreams of.” His hands went to his belt, sliding along it to the sheath attached to it. “How you want to do this?”

“You in a hurry?” the man asked, unbuttoning his shirt.

Sam smiled coldly and undid his belt. “I figured you were. I mean, that looks ready.” He gestured at the tenting in the man’s khakis. “You got a name?”

Sam moved a step closer, reaching for the guy’s pants. He had no intention of letting this loser fuck him, but Sam needed to get his pants down, so he was willing to play along a little.

“Gus.” He dropped his shirt on the bed, his hands falling on Sam’s hips to guide him closer. “It’s short for Augustus. My mother had ambitions for me.”

“If she could only see you now.” Sam said dryly, getting his zipper down and letting his pants fall. His cock poked out of his underwear. Sam reached for it, stroking it to get it to fully hard. “Now this, I know just what to do with this.”

“I bet you do—“ His words disappeared under a scream as Sam pulled his knife and held his dick and sliced it off neat as you please. Gus stumbled backward, still screaming and now bleeding. He tripped over the pool of pants around his ankles, falling backward and landing on his ass, both hands pressed against the place where his manhood had been. “Fuck! What did you do? Fuck!”

Sam bent down, holding Gus’s dick up to his face. “I cut off your fucking dick, asshole. Count yourself lucky. Normally I kill sick fucks like you, but tonight’s your lucky night. I’m saving this kill for someone else.”

He sheathed the blade and grabbed him around his neck, forcing him up and toward the wall. “Use that blood you’re pumping out and write what I tell you on the wall, and I’ll help you stop the blood flow.”

He had to pull one of his hands from his groin and put his finger on the wall. “I lost my dick because I paid a man to fuck a 16 year old boy against his will.”

Gus was starting to sway, his eyes glazing over. “Stay with me here Gus.”

Sam ended up having to help him write the words, and when it was done, he shoved the bastard down on the bed and went into the bathroom for washcloths and towels. He folded up the washcloths and pulled his hands away, pressing them down first. Then he pressed the hand towels and lastly the bath towel, putting both of Gus’s hands back down.

“Keep pressure on it.” He crossed to the phone by the bed and used Gus’ shirt to lift the receiver. He dialed 9-1-1 and dropped the receiver on the bed, taking the shirt and wrapping the severed dick in it. “Tell the nice lady what happened, Gus.” Sam said as the operator’s voice could be heard coming from the phone.

He let himself out of the room, taking his souvenir back to their room and knocking. His father opened the door, surprise on his face. “What the fuck are you doing back here?”

“Brought you a present.” Sam sad, throwing the shirt wrapped dick at him.

“What the fuck?”

“Where’s Dean?” He wasn’t in the room, and Sam turned to look at the bathroom door. “Dean?”

“Sam, what is this?” He was unrolling the shirt as Sam pushed the door open.

Dean was leaning over the bathroom sink, blood dripping from his mouth and nose and forehead. Sam could tell with just one look that it was worse than that, and the rock of rage in his stomach caught fire. “What did he do?”

“Holy fuck!” John yelled, dropping the dick to the dirty motel carpet. “Sam!”

“I told you, I’m not the whore in this family.” Sam said with a snarl, his hand curling around the hilt of his knife. “He’ll live, of course.” As if to punctuate his words, sirens could be heard, turning into the parking lot of the hotel. Sam drew his already bloody blade and cocked his head to one side. “Can’t say the same for you.”

“Sam.” Dean’s voice was filled with fear and warning.

“You think you can kill me, you ungrateful fuck?” John asked.

“Yes, actually. I think now I can.” Sam said. “Had to work up to it. Used to be too afraid.” He smiled and took a step closer. “But I’ve had practice.”

John came at him, and Sam knew better than to let him crowd him back against the wall or up against the bed. Instead he shifted the knife and moved in, scoring a blow across his arm even as his father punched his shoulder.

There were more sirens as they circled, more blows exchanged. “I’m going to beat you so black and blue you won’t be able to breathe without hurting.” John growled, his voice low to avoid bringing the cops.

“Maybe, but when I’m done, you won’t be breathing at all.” Sam replied. He saw his opening and stepped in, the blade sinking into his father’s stomach. “I thought by now you would have figured it out.” He pushed John back with the blade until he sat in the chair. “All those men…dead after they hurt Dean…after you failed to protect him from the perverts who can’t get off without making someone bleed…but you never even noticed did you?”

He twisted the knife and pulled it out, watching his father’s face as he registered what Sam was saying. “The first guy? I stabbed him thirty times, left him little more than bloody hamburger.” This triad though, Sam hadn’t had to be quite so thorough. One to the stomach, cutting through a liver, another to the chest, break through the rib cage, into the lung.

Sam pulled the knife out and held it up, watching the blood slide down the blade and onto his hand.

“Sam, stop.” Dean pulled on his arm. Sam turned to him, lifting a hand to caress his cheek, painting it red. “Stop.”

“Not yet, Dean. Almost. Almost.” Sam turned back as his father was trying to stand. “Where do you think you’re going?” Sam shoved him back into the chair, switching the knife to his other hand. “I’m not done yet, Dad. You taught me to finish what I start, remember?” He set the point of the knife on his father’s chest and leaned in, slipping between two ribs.

John gasped, grabbing at Sam’s hand and the knife. Sam pulled back a little, leaning in to kiss his father’s lips lightly. “It’s okay Dad, I’ll take care of Dean from now on. You can go be with Mom.” He shoved in, feeling the cracking of his ribs. “If she’ll have an evil, twisted fuck like you.”

John clung to him a moment longer, before his eyes unfocused and glazed over and his hands fell away.

Sam pulled his hand back, lifting the knife. His body was nearly vibrating and he wanted to throw Dean down on the bed and fuck him senseless, but it was clear his brother was hurting. “Okay.” Sam nodded to himself. “Now you. What’s hurt?”

Dean shook his head, staring at their father. “What…what did you do?”

“Dean, focus.” Sam snapped his fingers, getting Dean to look at him. “How hurt are you?”

Dean closed his eyes and Sam could nearly see him re-set himself. “I’m….I…ribs are broken.”

Sam nodded and moved past him into the bathroom. “Okay. We can handle that, right? Anything else?” He dumped the knife in the sink and turned the water on. “You with me?”

“I…probably concussion…not sure about the nose.”

Sam got the water running and washed his hands before turning to Dean. “Let me see.”

In the harsh light of the bathroom, Dean tilted his head back so Sam could get a good look. “Doesn’t look broken, but it’s going to bruise.”

He moved around Dean and back into the bedroom, over to the window. The ambulance was pulling out, but there were a lot of cops still milling around. “Okay Dean, we need to clean this room. Wipe down everything. Then we’re going to walk out, get in the car and drive away, okay?”

“What about him?” Dean asked, looking at the lifeless body in the chair.

“He’ll be fine. He had you pay for how many nights?”

“Three.”

“We put out the do not disturb sign and we’re states away before anyone finds him. But we have to go now.”

It took them almost a half hour to clean the room to Sam’s satisfaction. Sam emptied his father’s pockets, taking the cash and two of his IDs, leaving him with the stolen credit cards and tossing the keys to the car to his brother.

Dean held his ribs as they walked to the car. They would need to stop somewhere and tape him up, ice his nose and decide where to go from here, but for now they needed to put some distance between themselves and the crime scene. Dean drove and Sam pulled out his journal.

He drew the fifteenth line, the last in the triad with something akin to physical pleasure, his cock hard in his jeans as he circled the triad three times. It was a perfect kill, a perfect set. Nothing would ever be as perfect again.


End file.
